A/N: Well this is a short story that hit me at night and I couldn't help but put it here. I hope you would enjoy it

Disclaimer: except Agnes and the children all other characters belong to the wonderful C. Bronte.

The Child of December

You never could find a day in Thornfield like that fateful Tuesday in December. Ever since I have come here it has been peaceful and civil. That is until that day. But of course that tranquil place had not always been so, it's had its own history, a history I was surprised to hear. When I first came to work here for Mr. and Ms. Rochester as a servant almost a year ago; I could have never suspected that any extraordinary or scandalous thing could have ever occurred in such a warm, amiable family as theirs.

But I found out all about it soon enough when I asked Mary who had worked there for a very long time, as to why some of the nearer grounds to the Hall were burnt.

"Oh didn't you know that Thornfield has been rebuilt after it was burnet to ground?" she replied.

"Burnt to the ground? No, I didn't know that. Um…why I mean what happened."

"Oh well, it's a long story but I delight in narrating it if you are interested" she smiled.

And so she told me all about a bittersweet love story that was the last thing I had expected to hear. I knew it for a fact that the Rochesters were married for love and it hadn't changed a bit if not increased; for you can see the deep affection in their eyes when they address each other or simply gaze. But how could I ever imagine the story behind this love?

Then I did not wonder about the tranquility and warmth of the place. I enjoyed and still do, working here, playing with the five year old Matthew and singing to little Margaret. They are wonderful children. Matthew looks much like his father, he is quite a young man with his Black hair and dark black eyes; and what I love best about him is the responsibility he feels for his sister with all his childishness.

Margaret is two and has no likelihood to either of her parents. She is too young to be able to ascribe any real character to her except being a sweet little angel with wonderful soft features, curly, jet-black hair and soft green eyes. One can only wonder that how parents who themselves are deprived of any outer beauty can produce such a bell as her.

But to return to that terrible Tuesday which had indeed it's origins in the previous Sunday morning, at breakfast. The children, having had their meal in the nursery were now sitting on the kitchen chairs watching my work as I told them one of my own favorite childhood stories. The mistress had received a letter that morning from India from a Mr. Rivers; one of her relatives I believe.

"And so Clarissa made them wash the stable and clean the rooms…" I was saying when the door burst open, revealing Mary and her husband, John; too deep in conversation to notice us.

"Well I don't know nothing about this gentleman but the master wasn't as happy as his wife." Mary remarked darkly.

"I can't see why he is so piqued by this. Poor mistress was hurt."

"Well, it must be something between them two that we don't know. But I worry for the master; he has gone out and Lord knows where. You know how he used to be when he got hot angry and I hadn't seen him this hot tempered in a long time."

"Why, what's the matter, Mary?" I asked and it was only then that she noticed us.

"Oh Miss Agnes, you are here"

"Was I supposed to be anywhere else than here?"

"Nay, nay"

"Will you tell me what has happened?"

"Well it's only the letter that the mistress received from Mr. Rivers. Apparently he is to visit her first thing once he comes back to England from India and Mrs. Rochester was overjoyed by that."

"Why is he in India?"

"St. John is a missionary."

"And why has that caused any problems?"

Mary didn't answer, instead she looked at the children uneasily and I understood.

"Mathew will you be a good brother and take your little sister to the nursery?"

"But we still don't know what happens to Clarissa." He protested.

"Well maybe I would tell the rest of it some other time." I answered.


"If you be a good boy I'll continue it when I've finished my work."

Silently but grudgingly he obeyed and took Margaret with him. I turned back to Mary once the door was closed.

"Well?" I said, turning back to Mary.